


Stranger Things Will Come Your Way

by Miaou Jones (miaoujones)



Category: South Park
Genre: First Time, High School, Intoxication, M/M, Recreational Drug Use, Sexual Experimentation, Sexual Fantasy, Substitution Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-08-07
Updated: 2011-08-07
Packaged: 2017-10-22 07:54:34
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,984
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/235832
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/miaoujones/pseuds/Miaou%20Jones
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>All the things Clyde has been repressing bubble to the surface when he runs into Kenny at an adult bookstore in North Park.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Stranger Things Will Come Your Way

**Author's Note:**

> There's a line in hollycomb's magnificent [The Scenic Route](http://archiveofourown.org/works/465965/chapters/804802) where Kenny casually mentions that he once let Clyde blow him. That was so absurdly hot to me, I asked for and received kind permission to write something based on the scenario. I'm not sure this is properly fanfic of fanfic because the characters here are probably not in or from holly's ficverse anymore, but at the very least that story deserves credit as the inspiration for this.
> 
>  Title borrowed from lyrics to Portishead's "Biscuit."

Most Friday nights Clyde goes over to Token's, whether or not Token is having a party. Sometimes it's just him and Token and sometimes some of the other guys show up, too, and it turns into something of a party anyhow.

Sometimes, though, Clyde doesn't feel like hanging out at Token's. Sometimes when the other guys show up, it makes Clyde think about just how close they used to be in elementary school, back before their interests developed and diverged, before he and Token got so involved with school athletics and community activism, whereas Craig and them. Well. Didn't. And sometimes that makes Clyde want to cry, which is something he still does; and since he doesn't want to know if the guys will be as cool about it as Bebe is, he leaves before the tears start.

Bebe is sometimes another reason Clyde doesn't hang out at Token's, like when Token is having a party and Clyde and Bebe have just had a fight and maybe split up, and especially when Clyde isn't sure if they've split up. Times like that, like tonight, Clyde has found it's easier not to go to the party. Bebe's not a bitch or anything but the one time Clyde did go to Token's when they were split up, Wendy cornered him and talked his ear off about where he'd gone wrong, how to avoid those mistakes in the future, and how to get Bebe back. Clyde does not want to go through that again, ever.

And besides, he does just fine getting Bebe back on his own and he always has, thank you very much. He's had a fair amount of practice at it by now. They've been on and off since 3rd grade, when she dumped Kyle for him. Of course, she ditched him for Stoley four days later—but what a four days those were.

They didn't hook up again until 4th grade, kind of infamously. When it came out that the list had been rigged, Clyde had been crushed at first—but, he had to admit, not completely surprised. There was just no way he could be the hottest or most popular boy in class, not with guys like Token, Stan, and Craig around.

So when they met after school the day word hit, Clyde hadn't waited for Bebe to break up with him. He just told her she didn't have to go out with him for the shoes. If there was a pair of shoes she wanted, all she had to do was tell him which ones and he'd get them for her, no strings attached; he did it for his friends, Craig and them, all the time. "'Cause if you date me just for shoes," Clyde had said seriously, "that kind of makes you a prostitute. And I don't want you to be a whore."

She'd kept looking at him, so Clyde had scratched the back of his neck and added, "And when you girls do that, fake a list like that, and I believe it. I guess it makes me feel stupid. Like you think I'm stupid." He'd been about to explain that he knew deep inside he couldn't be the cutest boy in class, but before he could tell her, she'd leaned over and kissed him, open mouthed, but she hadn't used her tongue and Clyde had been too surprised to use his.

"I don't think you're stupid," she'd told him when she leaned back, squeezing his hand. She grinned when she let go and punched him in the shoulder, and right then and there Clyde fell in love with her.

They'd broken up then anyhow but they stayed friends. Just like they're friends now, even though they broke up a few hours ago.

And so Clyde finds himself where he usually is on the Friday nights he's not at Token's: in North Park, buying porn.

Clyde comes to North Park to buy his porn because South Park is just too small and no one there has ever heard of the word "discretion," let alone practices it. When he gets his driver's license next year he's considering going even farther, Denver maybe, but for now he just "borrows" whichever car his parents didn't take out for the night and heads over to North Park. He's big for his age and a safe driver, so he doesn't think there's anything suspicious to get him pulled over for—but if that happens, his plan is to play dumb and pretend he didn't know it was illegal to take his parents' car without permission and to drive without a license on top of that. Since almost everyone, even his friends (except Bebe), thinks he's kind of dumb anyhow, Clyde is pretty sure he'll be able to pull it off. Craig offered to get him a forged license once, but Clyde thinks it would be worse to get caught with a fake, which would imply knowledge aforethought or something.

He puts the _Hustler_ he's been flipping through in his "buy" stack and sidles a few steps to the left. He glances around, but no one in the store is looking his way. He used to get watched a lot, but he later realized that was only because the guys who work here thought it was hilarious to see a little kid reading _Playboy_. Now that he's a teenager, the novelty seems to have worn off. They're still cool to him, though, and he feels a kind of loyalty in return. Maybe he won't bother with Denver after all.

Another step and he reaches for the new issue of a magazine he's been looking at every time he's come in for the past half year. He never buys it, just looks. Since he knows he isn't going to buy it this time either, Clyde studies it hard, looking for the right pictures to commit to memory, thoroughly and deeply immersing himself in the details now for later recall.

"S'up, Donovan?"

Clyde's heart stops working for a second, but fortunately not all of his blood has drained to his cock during the magazine perusal, so he uses what little's left in his brain to make his hands slam the magazine shut and shove it behind whatever's nearest on the shelf.

"I thought you'd be at Token's," Kenny is saying, pulling the new issue of _Leg Show_ off the rack and flipping it open calmly, as if he hasn't noticed the heart attack he just gave Clyde. "Isn't everyone over there tonight?"

"Yeah," Clyde says.

Kenny glances up, eyebrows arched, then nods and quirks a knowing half-grin. "Ah. You and Bebe, huh."

"Yeah," Clyde says again. He knows he's not holding up his side of the conversation, but he doesn't really feel like talking about Bebe.

"How come you're not there?" he comes up with after they've been browsing in companionable silence awhile.

Kenny shrugs, flashes another grin. "The porn is better here."

Clyde wonders how long Kenny has been coming here, and how they've managed not to run into each other all this time. "Yeah," he agrees. And then, on impulse, he says, "The porn is better at my house."

Only one of Kenny's eyebrows arches this time. "Yeah?"

"Yeah, dude," Clyde confirms. "And better beer, too," he adds, even though there's no beer here to compare it to. It's stuff like this that makes people think he's not overly bright, Clyde reflects.

Kenny doesn't seem concerned with Clyde's display of intelligence or lack thereof, though, preferring to focus on the porn and beer: "What are we waiting for, then?"

As Clyde picks up his stack and starts for the register, Kenny says, "Aren't you going to get that one?"

Clyde turns back to see Kenny pointing at the magazine Clyde has apparently failed to hide. He feels a hot blush coming on—but then again, if you can't be shameless about a chicks-with-dicks mag around Kenny McCormick, who _can_ you be unashamed around? So he goes back and shoves it somewhere in the middle of his pile. He wants to look, to see if Kenny is laughing at him, but he doesn't know what he'd do if their eyes met, so he looks straight ahead as he walks to the front counter.

Outside, Kenny bends to unchain his bike. "Where's yours?"

"Oh," Clyde says. "I drove."

"Sweet." Kenny smiles a normal smile, one that's just a smile and not a threat of secret knowledge. And so Clyde smiles, too.

They don't talk much on the ride back, except when Kenny laughs at the music Clyde's parents listen to and Clyde says it's okay to change the radio station as long as he puts it back to where it was when they get to his house. Kenny says it's cool, though, and Clyde tries to focus on the road instead of digging into the fact that Kenny seems to like things even when he laughs at them.

The house is dark when Clyde pulls into the driveway, just like he knew it would be. He doesn't know where his parents go on Fridays but wherever it is, they're never home before two in the morning and usually later. He parks in the garage and, before they go in, grabs a six-pack from the stash his dad keeps out here. Kenny helps him rearrange the beer so nothing looks missing.

Up in Clyde's room, Kenny says, "You party, right?", reaching into his pocket and producing a baggy filled with what Clyde assumes is weed.

Clyde eyes it. He does party sometimes, usually with Craig because Token and Bebe aren't really into it. He hopes he hasn't hesitated too long before saying, "Yeah, sure."

"Cool," Kenny says.

While Kenny's rolling the first joint, Clyde turns up the heat, opens the window a couple of inches, and grabs a spare blanket from his closet to stuff in the bottom crack of the door, which is what Craig always does. He turns on his computer for some music, fully expecting Kenny to laugh like he did in the car, but Kenny just says, "Oh, dude, is this the album? Track 3!", which is also Clyde's favorite.

They settle in, Clyde sprawled out on the bed, Kenny pulling the Broncos beanbag chair over to camp out within easy reach so they can pass the bottle and the joint back and forth as they flip through their magazines. Most of Clyde's friends got bored with porn as soon as they discovered real girls, or so they would have him believe, and it's been a while since he's looked at any with someone else. As Kenny shows him a layout he finds particularly hot in one of his magazines and, in turn, Clyde reads him a wildly absurd bit of text from one of his, he remembers why he used to like doing this with the guys. Clyde has never really hung out with Kenny, not one-on-one like this, but it's actually pretty fun and totally what he needed tonight.

His hand hovers when he realizes the next magazine on his stack is the chicks-with-dicks one. He inhales as deeply as he can without coughing, holds the smoke in his lungs as long as he can, feels it seeping deeper into him, turns his head toward the window as he exhales. He grins down at the magazine cover as he pulls it to him.

"Hey," he says, carefully dogearing the page of a cute blonde with a green hair clip. Her hair isn't in pigtails, but that's okay. "Do you think Butters still dresses up like Marjorine?"

It takes Kenny a moment. Then he must remember, because he laughs. "Dude, how the fuck would I know?"

"I dunno." Clyde shifts, starting to feel stupid. He passes Kenny the joint and rolls onto his back. He can see the glimmer of stars through the window in his peripheral vision as he gazes up at the ceiling. "Just seems like the kind of thing you would know."

Kenny laughs again, but this time it feels friendly to Clyde and he starts to feel less stupid. "You guys seriously overestimate me," Kenny says. Clyde hears some rustling and the click of a bottle cap popping free. "If you want to know about shit like that, you should talk to Craig."

It's getting warm, a little too warm, so Clyde rolls toward the window and pushes himself up on one arm to open it wider. Looking through Kenny's reflection and out at the stars, he says, "Why would Craig know something like that?"

Kenny's reflection shrugs. "Why wouldn't he?"

Clyde sits up as he turns around. He knows he's sort of staring at Kenny, but he can't make himself stop. There are about a million things he wants to ask but there aren't any actual words going through his brain, so nothing comes out when he opens his mouth.

Somehow Kenny answers him anyhow. "Like I said, everyone gives me way too much credit. And it looks like you seriously underestimate Craig, too, because he's the one who's hooked into all that."

Clyde experiences a strange sensation that he can't identify as either purely physiological or psychological, and that he assumes is his mind boggling.

He becomes aware that they've slipped into silence only when Kenny breaks it to say, "I'm pretty sure Butters would let you fuck him. Just be a nice to him for, like, two seconds."

"It's not Butters I want—" Clyde blurts out, before a hot surge stops him. "Uh. It's _Marjorine_."

"Riiiight," Kenny says, half-cocked grin suggesting he knows something Clyde doesn't.

Clyde is just wasted enough to want to tell Kenny he doesn't know anything about Clyde that Clyde doesn't already know about himself because, contrary to popular belief, Clyde is a _thinker_. He is _self-reflective_ and _introspective_ , man. But he's not so wasted that he actually says it.

Instead, he flops onto his stomach, reaches down to grab the beer bottle from the floor, swipes a new magazine from his pile.

A few randomized songs later, the mattress dips as Kenny stretches out next to him on the bed. "So are you into the pre-makeover or post-makeover Marjorine?"

There's no judgment in his voice but Clyde looks up, expecting to see that irritating grin.

Kenny's not even smiling, though. He's looking at the tranny magazine, genuinely interested.

"Uhh," Clyde says. "The one who likes to get her snooch pounded on Friday nights?"

Kenny laughs, a nice laugh, and Clyde grins back. "That'd be kind of hot," Kenny says, toking and turning the page.

He seems to mean it, so Clyde says, "What if...what if he, you know." The blush has made it past the back of his neck and up to his face this time, heavy enough to make him falter.

Kenny looks up from the magazine expectantly. Whatever he sees in Clyde's face makes him sit up. "If she what?"

The pronoun switch catches Clyde's ear; he thinks Kenny is too modest about his sexual savvy. "If, _she_ ," Clyde says carefully, then stops again. "Did," he tries. "It?"

"Did it?" Kenny repeats blankly, then puts it together: "Did _you_? You want Butters—Marjorine, to fuck you?"

Clyde is pretty sure he's made a mistake opening his mouth like that but it's too late now, so he nods.

Kenny leans back, propped up on his elbows, legs stretched out. "Would she be wearing the nightie? The little white number?"

Clyde nods again. He can feel tears welling up but he doesn't want to cry now, not fucking now, not when he doesn't know why he's crying, and he forces them back. He's concentrating so hard on doing this that he almost misses it when Kenny murmurs, "Definitely."

"What?"

"Yeah." Kenny lies back all the way, hands clasped beneath his head on Clyde's pillow. "That'd definitely be hot."

Clyde's blush goes full-body. He can't believe they're having this conversation, but he knows it's real. "Fuck," he mutters.

Kenny makes a sound that Clyde chooses to take as agreement.

They pass the joint back and forth, music swirling around them.

"Hey," Kenny says on an exhale. "Did you ever think about asking Bebe to wear a strap-on?"

"Thought about it, yeah." Clyde sighs. "And she'd probably do it." He knows she would if he asked her to, but the thing is, he doesn't talk about Bebe to anyone. It doesn't matter that she talks about him to her girlfriends; he's just not going to talk about her.

He sighs again. "But it wouldn't. The thing is, what I really want." He takes the joint from Kenny's fingers but doesn't toke. He's so close to saying it, and he really thinks he wants to, but the closer he gets, the harder the words are. "I kind of want," he says this time, and somehow that qualification makes it easier to push through: "To try—sucking?"

"You want to suck Marjorine's cock?"

Surprise colors Kenny's voice, but Clyde takes no satisfaction in it. "Want to suck a cock, yeah," he says.

Kenny doesn't say anything. The tears are back, threatening to spill, and this time Clyde pretty much knows why. Because no matter what Bebe thinks, Clyde _is_ stupid. He's so fucking stupid, he could cry. If he were smart, would he do crap like this, tell a guy he isn't even really friends with that he fantasizes about sucking dick? Or, Jesus Christ, how fucking stupid can you get, Clyde? What makes you think it would somehow be better if you told a guy you're friends with that you want to suck his cock so badly you can practically come just imagining it?

"Fuck you," he whispers to himself, eyes shut tight, arm flung across them, wetness stupidly leaking out at the corners anyhow.

"Hey." Kenny shifts beside him.

If he asks if Clyde is all right, Clyde is pretty sure he will punch Kenny right in his mouth, which isn't really fair to Kenny and especially not when the one whose stupid mouth should get punched is Clyde, but since when are things fair? Since never, and Clyde and Kenny are just going to have to deal.

"You can suck my cock, if you want," Kenny says.

Which is totally not what Clyde was expecting. He was prepared to pop Kenny one if Kenny said anything about the crying, but this...Clyde doesn't have a prepared response for this.

When it becomes clear to him that he's not coming up with anything clever, Clyde falls back on the old standby Craig taught him years ago, especially when it comes to the Unholy Foursome, as Craig sometimes calls those guys. "You're an asshole." There's no real follow-up to it so Clyde doesn't know what he'll say to Kenny's comeback. Maybe he'll just lie here.

But Kenny says, "Yeah, that's probably true. But it doesn't change the fact that I'm up for it. Or, you know, I _can_ be up for it, if you want."

Even though it's a pretty lame pun, Clyde feels his mouth curve into a smile. He even lets Kenny tug his arm away from his face.

"So what do you think?" Kenny asks when Clyde opens his eyes.

"I think you shouldn't play down to me what an obvious sex maniac you are anymore," Clyde says, sitting up. Kenny snorts but doesn't deny it. "If you're serious," Clyde says now, looking at Kenny out of the corner of his eye and trying to assess his expression. He can't really tell, but fuck it. "If you're serious," he says again, "then yeah."

"Right on." Kenny stubs out the joint, picks up a magazine from the floor. "Give me a minute—unless you want to start with me soft?"

"Um," Clyde says stupidly.

"I was thinking you guys were probably making out for a while, so he'd already be hard," Kenny says easily, as if this is a normal, every day conversation.

If Kenny's not going to make it weird, then Clyde won't either. He thinks about what Kenny just said, making out with someone until they're both hard. He closes his eyes and pictures it, his mouth going a little dry—which is totally not good for what he's about to do. Opening his eyes again, he takes a long pull from the bottle. "That," he says. "Already hard."

"Okay." Kenny lifts his hips, hands at his waistband. Realizing he's about to take off his pants, Clyde averts his eyes. "Dude, really?" Kenny sounds amused, but doesn't actually laugh at Clyde. "It's okay to look," he says, voice lower, softer, kind of the way Craig's gets when he's talking to Stripe. The analogy falls apart with his next words, though: "I mean, you're going to put it in your mouth, right?"

Clyde rubs at the heat at the back of his neck. "Right." He looks over. It's not like this is the first time he's seen another dude's dick, but this is the first time it's sexual and in person at the same time. He bites the inside of his lip, then soothes over it with his tongue. He doesn't know if he's supposed to say something or not but it feels weird to just look, so he says, truthfully, "Nice."

Kenny grins at the compliment, hiking his shirt up. His arms stretch as he whips it off and lets it drop to the floor. "Do you have lotion or something?"

As it hits him what Kenny has to do before Clyde can do what he's going to, Clyde feels his face flush again. More blood rushes to his head as he bends over, fishing around upside-down for the bottle he keeps under his bed.

When Clyde hands him the lotion, Kenny says, "You can watch, or not." He runs a hand through his hair. "Whatever you want."

Clyde doesn't know how to answer. He isn't really sure what he wants. He likes to fuck in the dark usually. Bebe likes it with the lights on, though, so as a compromise Clyde talked his dad into putting in a dimmer switch, under the guise of home improvement. He gets up now and turns it way down, then adjusts it back up a little. "Is this okay?"

"Perfect, dude," Kenny says.

Clyde doesn't care whether Kenny means it or is just saying it, because hearing that relaxes him. He sits on the floor by the bed, watching Kenny's hand moving on his dick.

"Are you gonna leave your clothes on?" Kenny asks.

Clyde's gaze shifts to his face. He swallows. "Is that okay?"

"This is your thing, man," Kenny says, like whatever Clyde wants is okay, which makes Clyde relax a little more.

And even more when Kenny doesn't ask why he wants it this way. Clyde sometimes fucks Bebe while he's still dressed. It got more fun after she stopped asking him about it. He knows she thinks he still has body image issues from when he got named the second fattest kid in South Park, but that's not it. It's just something he likes, and considering all the other things he likes, this one is pretty easy for him to accept without questioning it.

When Kenny's ready, he spreads his legs and pats the mattress between them.

"Could you. Um. Like, swing your legs over the edge?" Clyde says, because that's how he likes to imagine it, himself down on his knees.

"'Kay." Kenny's going breathless already, which makes Clyde breathe heavier himself.

Clyde moves back to make room for Kenny's feet, then kneels between them. He takes his time looking at the cock before him, considering. It's not like he has no experience with blowjobs, ones in porn and of course ones he's gotten himself, but that was a different angle and just. Completely different.

"You can change your mind."

Clyde looks up long enough to meet Kenny's eyes and shake his head. Then his gaze is back on Kenny's cock. He draws in a breath and reaches out to wrap his fingers around the base, which is the first and only time he's had another dude's dick in his hand since 8th grade when Craig said it was dumb to jerk yourself off when there was someone else who could do it, which was also the first and only time Craig watched porn with him. Craig never watched porn with Clyde again, which made Clyde think Craig doesn't like porn and it's part of why he was surprised when Kenny said Craig is the real sex expert. Then again, Craig _did_ do that with him that one time, and maybe the reason it never happened again isn't because Craig doesn't like watching porn. Maybe Craig just doesn't like watching porn with Clyde, or maybe he just doesn't like—

 _Fuck_ , Clyde thinks. Don't fucking cry now, you dumb fuck. Not with another dude's cock in your hand.

He kneels up and kisses Kenny's cockhead. He experiences a small thrill low in his belly when it twitches beneath his lips as he parts them and gives it an experimental lick. He thought it would be saltier. He licks a little more, wondering how to describe the taste; and then he licks more, just savoring it.

He traces the circumference and tongues the slit before he opens wider to take the head in his mouth, sucking now. He tries to remember what Bebe does to him, the things she does that he likes. He tilts his head to lick the underside, licking along the shaft to get it slick before he suckles the head again for a while.

He thinks he's doing okay because Kenny's making soft guttural sounds above him. But then Kenny murmurs, "Come on, you can do better than this. Suck like you mean it. Like you have to fucking have it, like you _live_ for this cock."

The thrill coiled in Clyde's belly twists wildly, tendrils wending into his balls and up the length of his cock to the very tip. He wants to open his eyes and close them at the same time; his lashes flutter helplessly and he moans, thinking of that cock, the one he would live for if he were allowed to...

The fingers resting on Clyde's head tighten in his hair when he tries to swallow this cock, but he gags when the head hits the back of his mouth. He jerks back reflexively then tries again, and gags a second time.

He pulls back, shaking off Kenny's loosened fingers, turns and coughs against his shoulder. "Sorry, man."

"It's okay," Kenny says. "Just—try again, okay?"

Clyde recognizes the high tightness in Kenny's voice. He believes there's a special place in hell for cockteases, and he definitely does not want to wind up there. So he takes a deep breath and leans forward again. He's afraid of gagging a third time so, instead of going for Kenny's cock, he angles down and draws Kenny's sac into his mouth.

"Fuck yeah," Kenny moans, fingers winding into Clyde's hair again.

As he suckles, Clyde thinks about going down and back farther, licking back there like he's seen in a million pornos, but even though he's still drunk from the beer and stoned from the pot and buzzing on this new high, Clyde isn't far enough gone to try that.

So he licks his way up the length of the cock again, rubs his cheek against it, lets the head stroke along his jaw, trailing precome. Pleasurable moans drift down to him and, as he starts to make out with the glistening cockhead, Clyde whimpers, too.

"Dude," Kenny gasps, "gonna come."

Kenny's warning makes Clyde realize he has a decision to make. He's never given himself a choice in his imagination, but Kenny is offering him unspoken options.

Clyde tries to make himself think, but by the time he makes up his mind and backs off so Kenny can come in his own hand, it's too late: the first spurt splashes Clyde's cheek and before he can scramble backward the next gets him in the eye, clinging to his lashes.

Neither of them says anything.

Clyde reaches blind for something to wipe his face and rub his eye, which is starting to sting. It turns out to be Kenny's shirt, which Clyde only realizes when Kenny says, "Yeah, that's fair." Clyde would apologize but Kenny seems to really mean it, so he doesn't bother.

When he holds out the shirt, Kenny, already buttoning up his jeans, shakes his head. "Keep it."

Clyde's brow furrows. "I don't want it!"

"Then burn it, or do whatever you want with it." Kenny shrugs, putting on his coat over his bare chest, done with the shirt, done with the conversation.

Clyde guesses he's done, too. He doesn't say anything more about the shirt, doesn't try to stop Kenny when he says, "See you around," and goes.

He lies down on his bed. The draft from the window is more noticeable now, but he doesn't close it yet. He gets up again, finds his phone, and presses speed dial 2. "Hey, babe," he says when he gets her voice mail, "it's me. I don't want it to be like this. Call me, okay?" He puts the phone on the windowsill. He knows she'll call, not tonight and probably not even tomorrow, but yeah.

Kenny's shirt is lying crumpled in the middle of the floor. Clyde gets up once more, picks it up and shakes it out, folds it up as small as he can, and puts it in the box under his bed with his 7th grade football jersey from when they lost state finals, the bandanna he wore when he was a pirate in Somalia, and the wrapper from the first candy bar Bebe ever gave him.


End file.
